Beware, the potholes — Public service announcement disguised as journalism

Folks, we’ve all been polite about it long enough. Weston County’s road system is not so much a network of transportation corridors as it is a living museum of geological violence, poorly timed freeze-thaw cycles and the collective emotional damage of every loaded stock trailer that ever hit 55 on a washboard. The time has come to stop pretending these holes are mere inconveniences and start treating them like the local celebrities they clearly believe themselves to be.

I spent three weeks, two spare tires, and one uncomfortable conversation with the county road crew ranking the most notable potholes in the area by pure character. Not size. Not depth. Character. Because in Newcastle, size is cheap. Personality is everything.

1. Old Reliable (Old 85, just out of town)

Old Reliable is the patriarch. He’s been there so long that half the town uses him as a landmark. “Turn left after the big one that tries to eat your front end every time.” He doesn’t lunge. He doesn’t surprise you. He simply waits, patient as a badger, for the exact moment your attention drifts to the radio or a particularly handsome antelope. Then he gently, almost lovingly, removes your alignment.

Locals speak of him with a kind of gruff affection. Tourists scream. Old Reliable does not care. He has seen administrations come and go. He has outlasted three different “this time we’re really fixing it” promises. He is the Clint Eastwood of potholes: quiet, inevitable and slightly amused by your suffering.

2. No More Trailer (next to the old landfill)

This one has lore. Actual lore. In the spring of 2009 a man towing a trailer hit it at what witnesses described as “a responsible speed for the conditions.” The hitch didn’t just break. It vanished. Search parties were organized. Metal detectors were deployed. To this day, some claim the hitch is still down there, slowly becoming one with the county’s road base like some kind of automotive fossil.

The hole itself has a smug quality. It sits a little higher on the shoulders than the others, as if it knows the story and enjoys the attention. Approach it with respect or don’t approach it at all.

3. Whispering Ginny
(residential side street near the fairgrounds)

Ginny is subtle. Almost polite. She doesn’t announce herself with a dramatic drop. Instead she produces a soft, rhythmic thump-thump-thump that makes you think something is wrong with your vehicle until you realize the something is Ginny. She has ruined more sets of cup holders than any other hole in the county. Coffee flies. Phone chargers unplug themselves in protest. She is the passive-aggressive aunt of the pothole community.

Parents driving kids to school have developed an elaborate avoidance choreography around her. It looks like a slow-motion ballet performed by F-150s.

4. The Tourist Trap (main drag through town, right where the speed limit drops to 20 out of necessity)

This one is a born showman. It positions itself perfectly for maximum public humiliation. Out-of-state plates hit it, lurch dramatically, and then pretend nothing happened while locals at the coffee shop pretend not to watch. It has caused more sudden religious conversions (“Oh, sweet Jesus”) than the last three revival meetings combined.

The Tourist Trap understands branding. It knows that every startled visitor who posts about “the crazy roads out here” is free advertising. It is the only pothole in Weston County that appears to have a social media strategy.

5. Little Jerk (random stretch of gravel that somehow still qualifies as a county road south west of town)

No dignity. No legend. Just pure chaotic energy. Little Jerk changes shape weekly. One day it’s a modest divot. Next it’s a crater that could hide a small calf. It has no loyalty to any particular vehicle type. Motorcycles, side-by-sides, the mail lady’s little car — Little Jerk hates them all equally and with great enthusiasm.

Most residents have simply accepted that this section of road is less a thoroughfare and more a personality test. If you can navigate Little Jerk without swearing, you may be a better person than the rest of us.

The Bracket

I ran a scientific single-elimination tournament using criteria such as “suddenness of impact,” or “ability to launch objects into orbit.” Old Reliable took the title in a hard-fought battle against No More Trailer. The deciding factor was longevity. You can only respect a hole that has been consistently disappointing people for multiple decades. I have referred the matter to a blue-ribbon panel of local mechanics, all of whom are currently too busy replacing ball joints to respond.

Some will say this column is frivolous. That we should be writing about serious issues like economic development or the price of hay. Those people have clearly never lost a full cup of gas-station coffee to Ginny at 7:15 in the morning while late for work.

And if anyone from the road department is reading this: Old Reliable says he’s not going anywhere. He likes the attention.

Ensure These Stories Are Told

Despite the challenges facing independent local journalism, what sustains us — and fills us with deep gratitude — is the loyal support of readers who believe our communities deserve accurate, trusted, and locally rooted news.

It is no exaggeration to say that we are here because of you. Every story we report, every local issue we follow, every public meeting we cover, and every community voice we lift up is made possible by readers who understand the value of an independent newspaper.

Your support does more than fund articles. It helps protect the independence that allows us to report honestly, ask important questions, and keep our community informed without fear or favor.

If you are able, please consider supporting the News Letter Journal by donating to our Unabridged Fund today. Whether your gift helps cover reporting time, printing costs, video, photography, editing, or distribution, every contribution helps keep local journalism strong in Wyoming.

All gifts are deeply appreciated. Your support helps ensure that local stories continue to be told, local decisions continue to be watched, and local voices continue to be heard.

Thank you for standing with independent community journalism.